


HAWKEYES’ DISASTER CHRISTMAS

by ModernArt2012



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: And A Nuke, And Lazers, And the Sleigh, Because Hawkeye, But Also a Disaster, Christmas, Clint Barton is a Disaster, Gen, Gift Fic, Hawkeye's Do Christmas, Hijinks & Shenanigans, I should not have started this the Day before Christmas, Kate Bishop is our Queen, Santa (Marvel) - Freeform, That is not Innuendo, The Hawkeyes Roast Santa, They Disaster Christmas, With Reindeer, hawkeye squared, how is that even a tag, the author does not know how to tag, this is a trainwreck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9061981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernArt2012/pseuds/ModernArt2012
Summary: In true Hawkeye Fashion; Hawkeyes Older and Younger Disaster, and Disaster Hard. This time the unfortunate soul is Christmas, and they are shanghai'd into saving Christmas. Shenanigans ensue.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lost_in_dark_places](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_in_dark_places/gifts).



> Inspired by this tumblr post: http://clint-you-dummy.tumblr.com/post/154896474146/autumnpancakes-i-work-at-an-archery-shop-this-is
> 
> And then Lost made things better, because Lost is the Best Partner in Hijinks that anyone could ever want. So, for all her Awesome for the whole year, here's a small gift. 
> 
> Also, 5k words later, I now know more than is Strictly Acceptable about: Reindeer, Sleighs, Santa Claus mythos & the feasibility issues therein, F-14s, the Air Force and callsigns of various branches of the U.S. military, and the geographic terrain of the Western Hemisphere.

It starts, like so many things, because neither Clint nor Kate have ever met something that couldn’t be made better with arrows. Also, because decorating a Christmas tree by hand was boring. And when you’re Earth human standard, practice is important.

(Okay, it all _started_ because neither Clint nor Kate could agree on a Christmas tree design theme, and it was Christmas Eve and Clint still didn’t have his tree together – the camps being _why does a tree need a theme, it already has twinkle lights in rainbow colors_ and _exasperated sigh,_ devolving into An Argument and ending with Clint getting fed up and sticking an arrow into the evergreen and announcing that he had contributed to the task of Tree Decorating and the rest was up to Kate. Kate had considered the “aesthetic” to be perfect and continued the task of stabbing a tree with arrows. Except that was taking a while, so she took up the task with a bow, and roped Clint in. And then it became a competition.

Granted, no one could complain with the results – it was a breath-taking tree, even simply dressed in twinkle lights and purple arrows sticking out at all angles – and the task was completed in record time. It looked amazing next to the fireplace.)

* * *

 

 

Kate rushed back to BedStuy after Billy called in a panic, his Arrow Alarm having gone off with an alert about “Dangerous Levels of Smoke” in Clint’s apartment. Smoke didn’t just happen near Hawkeyes, mostly because neither smoked nor had any delusions about their ability to cook anything more complex than microwavable dinners (and even that was suspect). As the colloquialism went, where there was smoke, there was fire, and where there was fire near a Hawkeye, there was a Disaster.

To be fair, Kate simply expected Clint to have set the toaster on fire again. Minor mishap. Not a rather _large man with a white beard and a sooty red suit on fire in the blazing remains of the Hawkeye Tree of Glory._ Still, she gamely grabbed the fire extinguisher and liberally (read: excessively) sprayed the living room down. Especially the red-hot ash and soot that covered the area in front of the fireplace. Then she called Director Hill for a S.H.I.E.L.D medic team, left a voice mail for Clint, turned off the Alarm with a general “Everything’s Okay”, and climbed to the roof via the fire escape because there was no way she was going to climb the chimney like Red Suit Dude apparently had.

After exactly 5 minutes, Clint’s Avenger Alarm went off on High Alert at Wade’s Non-Denominational-Winter-Drink-Off (Attendance MANDATORY). “Aww, Santa _no_.”

* * *

 

“What do you mean _he’s Santa?!?!?!?!”_   Kate’s incredulous (and sharp) query rang above the chaos of S.H.I.E.L.D grunts setting up a perimeter, marching places, and generally looking surly. Director Hill was not amused.

“Well, my predecessors were all aware that there was in fact a, and I quote, ‘real-life Saint Nikolas’, they simply failed to share that fact with the world, citing several hypotheticals that led to the destruction of society as we know it.”

Wade crunched on a chimichanga, mask pulled up to reveal his mouth, “Seems a bit too convenient of a plot device, but hey! I’m not going to complain. Oi, Grunt #12, yes you, get me a soda.”

Sam, also having been at Wade’s Non-Denominational-Winter-Drink-Off, was suitably appalled (also, inebriated), “ _Y’all went and roasted Santa. Y’all set Santa on fire and let him burn._ ” One of the more scientist-y looking S.H.I.E.L.D agents patted Sam’s shoulder tentatively, clearly unsure of what to do when a superhero had a few too many and had his worldview rearranged.

Clint was nonplussed, “This is fine …. I’m pretty sure he was a supervillain anyways.”

Kate rounded on him, “HE’S SANTA! HE BRINGS PRESENTS TO CHILDREN HOW ON EARTH IS HE A SUPERVILLAIN?!”

Nat, however, had no such compunctions. “How did you catch him anyways? I’ve been trying to apprehend the Fat Bastard for years….” She lifted his non burned eyelid, and stared into the eye beneath, studying the iris closely as her phone took a scan of his fingerprints. The EMTs seemed too afraid to stop her.

Director Hill, however had no such compunctions. “Agent Romanov, please leave Santa alone. Medics, hospital. ASAP.” The EMTs fled, sirens blaring. “Now, we’ve ascertained that the source of the fire was an exposed wire in the lights, which heated the shaft of the arrow and thus caught the tree on fire. Otherwise, the only damage is superficial, and – “

Sam, leaning heavily on the Scientist of S.H.I.E.L.D interrupted groggily, “That’s great and all, but _who’s gonna deliver the presents?_ ” 

The scene froze, agents of all types staring at the inebriated Falcon, the dumbstruck Director, and the shocked Hawkeyes. Faint ringing of reindeer harnesses and tack could be heard overhead.

Wade broke the standoff, through a mouthful of Mexican, “I say we make Clint and Kate fix it, because that is what the reader has come for – Hawkeyes and Christmas! Also, disaster, but no judgement …. Though does this make me a plot device at the mercy of the writer, who is clearly making this as the unintentional love-child of a photo and a half-baked idea?”

Everyone turned to consider the shocked Hawkeyes, ignoring the existential musings of Wade Wilson they didn’t have context for. Nat shared a Look with Director Hill, then remarked, “It’s not like the rest of us are up of the job; we’re drunk and drunk driving is illegal.”

Clint look affronted, “You’re a Russian Super Spy and have been drinking people under the table for decades! You’re probably not even the slightest bit tipsy!”

Kate simultaneous injured response came, “You don’t usually care about a small thing like legal definitions!”

Both of these arguments were promptly ignored and the Hawkeyes were frogmarched to the waiting chariot, armed, and stuffed into Santa hats (that ended up on Sam’s civilian Twitter, to everyone’s despair). It was considered a small miracle that there was only the Western Hemisphere to complete; no one needed Clint to chance his Carnie Gods with an _entire globe_ to fly over.

* * *

 

Contrary to popular belief, there were in fact only 6 reindeer hitched to the sleigh. 6 massive reindeer that _definitely came from alien planets, reindeer don’t have that many legs._

Kate, having lost the draw of getting the reins of the sleigh, lounged in the backseat, “Should I be surprised that Santa has alien reindeer? Where did he even get alien reindeer from?” She sat bolt upright, outraged, “ _Santa’s been an alien the whole time!”_

Clint squinted against the bright city lights, “How do you even drive this thing?” He turned to make eye contact with the frantically texting Kate, “Does the fact that Santa has alien reindeer support the fact that he might be a supervillain?”

Kate considered, then shrugged, “Maybe? There’s no _good_ reason for him to have alien reindeer.” Then something occurred to her. “Weren’t we supposed to be distributing presents?!”

The Hawkeyes stared at each other, before scrambling towards the giant bag strapped to the back of the sleigh. They each grabbed an elaborately wrapped gift, then stared. “Wait, how do we even know who these go to?”

“Was there a tutorial, or a manual for this thing?”

“How should I know? I’ve never had to be Santa before! Just start throwing them! There’s no other way!” The barrage began, the boxes hitting their marks and (hopefully their intended recipients.)

(It should be noted that the only reason a few dozen children in BedStuy got their presents were because Hawkeyes have perfect aim.)

* * *

 

Hawkeyes Older and Younger have gotten through all of BedStuy and Brooklyn Heights without figuring out whether they’re getting the right presents to the right people. Though they aren’t worrying about it, they’re going at really high speeds and still hurling gifts of varying sizes out of a giant sleigh. It wasn’t until they were passing over Brooklyn Bridge and heading straight for Lower Manhattan that the thought occurred to Kate, “Clint…. _Who’s driving the sleigh?”_

Clint paused mid-throw, then stared at the front of the sleigh, with the flying alien reindeer galloping through the sky with alacrity straight at skyscrapers. Specifically, a very large brightly lit Tower that may or may not have a large stylized “A” as part of the logo.

Present tossing was abandoned as Hawkeyes scrambled over the back of the front seat to scrabble for the reigns. But given the sleigh’s general speed, the wind, and their panic, they instead managed to push down a lever, whack several buttons on the front panel into lighting up, and nearly fall out of the sleigh before Kate got a hand on a wildly flapping reign, and _yanked back hard._

This did not work as in the movies. The reindeer did not suddenly halt, but instead changed angle to completely vertical and _accelerated_. Clint was thrown against the massive bundle of gifts, and several fell out, only to flash off like comets.

“Kaaaaaaaaaaateeeeeeeee, Iiiiii d-don’ttt thiiiiinkkkk th-this issss theeee b-beessttt iiiddeeeaaa, “Clint chattered out through the G Forces, forcing his lips to make the correct sounds against the wind.

“HO-w d-doo yoooou eev’n stEErrrrrrrrr?” came the disjointed reply; her every hard earned arm muscle was locked into keeping the reins in her hand.

It cannot be surmised what next could have happened, as the reindeer continued to accelerate, and our intrepid Hawkeyes fainted.

* * *

 

 

Clint wakes up to a sky full of stars, nearly blurred – the sort of thing that no one in Brooklyn would ever see, not without having cut all the powerlines first.  He could hear the whoosh of wind and that was about all. He carefully sat up, then checked himself over for life-threatening injury. There was a faint dizziness about him, but it wasn’t critical.

He then checked the status of the gifts, thankfully still attached to the sleigh. It seemed just as tightly packed as before, but gifts were still falling out and speeding off in flashes of light at an alarming rate. He could only hope that they were getting to where they needed to go; he had no idea where in the world they were over, and could only presume that the gift delivery was still on track.

He carefully reached over and felt around for Kate. However, his luck had run out and he mostly felt nothing – Kate out of reach. He crawled over the back of the seat, slithering into the front of the sleigh and checking for signs of Kate rousing before looking over the previously-assumed to be decorative lever and buttons. Some were flashing and that was worrying. None seemed to indicate a fuel level, which was a small relief.

What was not a relief was looking over the side of the sleigh and seeing rainforest. Rainforests, at best, were further south than he anticipated being quite so quickly. “Kate, Kate, wake up.” A quick series of shakes to the still-unconscious Kate didn’t seem to bring her back to the waking world, but it wasn’t as if he had expected it to.

Clint fumbled for his phone, checking the time against when he last thought it was, then winced. He could only hope to the Gods of Luck and Fortune that whatever neither of them had been conscious for had been completed. Still, he prepared himself for quite a bit of flying.

What he wasn’t prepared for was turbulence. A particularly bumpy patch of air and his phone was falling through the atmosphere like a tiny … rectangle of glass and electronics. He didn’t want to explain this one to Tony.

The turbulence had its silver lining; the bouncing had dumped Kate to the floor hard enough to jolt her awake. “Owwwwwww….”

“Good morning Katie-Kate, welcome to the beauty that is a Central or South American Rainforest, aerial view.”

“What do you mean morning? _And rainforest_?”

“It’s past midnight, closer to one. And rainforest.”

Kate shakily climbed back into the seat she’d been ejected from, then peered over the side. “That is some rainforest. But what are the things dropping like shooting stars?”

Clint looked up from studying the dash, “Gifts. They do seem to be ending up at domiciles, or speed off to find the right one, for what it’s worth.”

Kate groaned, “So this whole time, there was a present targeting system? Man, we threw so many gifts manually!”

Clint shrugged, then returned to the dashboard. One of the buttons was flashing insistently, and Clint hovered his finger over the brightly lit point.

Turbulence hit again, at the most in opportune time. Sleigh, reindeer and cargo all dropped several yards in the air, tossing items both organic and not all through the air. Clint fumbled the landing, stepping on the shaft of an arrow and it rolling underfoot as he tried to grab at Kate, hanging off the side, his other hand smacking hard on the dash. He had just gotten ahold of her wrists and was helping her back over when they both froze.

That beeping sequence was the beeping sequence of an armed explosive arrow. An explosive arrow that had the shaft broken, and was lying only a few feet from either Hawkeye. Clint and Kate shared a look, then he dove for the arrow, Clint’s longer arms grabbing the side that was still attached to the explosive head. He tossed it up behind him, trusting Kate to catch it and hurl it away from the sleigh. What he hadn’t counted on was the fact that _he’d hit the flashing button_. And that button had just activated.

* * *

 

 

There have been a great many flashing buttons Clint has pressed in his long history as a super hero – exploding ones the most common, but there was a particularly interesting flashing button in a hovercraft that led to forcible ejection that had been fun. What he wasn’t expecting this particular flashing button would do was _fire lasers_. There was an explosion to his left (nominally the exploding arrow, he hoped), then the flash of a laser and an explosion in the landscape below. Because it couldn’t just have been a laser. _It was an exploding laser. And it had exploded something._

The, “was that a laser,” that Kate yelped was partially drowned out by the reindeer bellowing and baying, but also by the sudden illumination of the forest with search lights and sirens.

Clint moved, and moved _fast_ , “Strap in Hawkeye, _Evasive Maneuvers!”_ Kate scrambled to comply, grabbing her bow and both quivers as Clint grabbed the reins and snapped them to speed the reindeer. He could almost pretend this was a normal equine experience, except for the randomly firing laser panicking the reindeer.  Also the gunfire, but the gunfire was Business As Usual, for the most part.

“See Kate, told you Santa might be a supervillain! Who else has lasers in their mode of transport?”

“Clint, we can argue about whether Santa is evil later, right now we have a missile headed straight for us!” The tell-tale _thwapp_ of a bowstring releasing could be heard, as well as a distant shriek and small (comparatively) explosion. Clint banked left, wishing he had rear-view mirrors to tell where the missile was coming from. Something detonated a few yards behind the sleigh, but the Hawkeyes were quickly outpacing the speed of the missiles.

Unfortunately, it seemed that alarms all across the forest had been triggered, and flood lights and missiles were being set off at all sides. The laser wasn’t helping. Clint slammed on what he hoped was the same button as before, and thankfully the laser did turn off. What happened as well was a rather sudden and drastic loss of weight and the flickering on of a shield around the sleigh, and thus making it noticeably lighter but also decreasing the amount of air pressure and heat the sleigh felt due to the explosions.

“Uhhhh, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“I think that was a bomb.”

“What?!”

The mushroom cloud he turned around in time to see was unmistakable. The sheer force of the blast sent the sleigh twisting through the air, knocking the inhabitants like human pinballs. The alien reindeer ran on.

* * *

 

Sometime after a major present dump over what looked to be a large city, the rainforest had transitioned to grassland, and the shock of the situation hadn’t worn off.

Kate moaned in horror slumped against the side of the sleigh, “Oh my god, Santa’s Sleigh had a NUCLEAR BOMB IN IT.”

Clint, leaning against the opposite side of the sleigh, stared blankly ahead.

Kate, continued, in the tone of voice of someone who’s entire life has been re-arranged around a new and mind-altering fact. “Santa might be an alien supervillain. With alien reindeer.” Her eyes took on a crazed look, and she grabbed Clint by the shoulders to shake him vigorously. “ _WHAT ELSE IN MY LIFE HAS BEEN A LIE!?!?!?”_

Clint looked dazed, and slightly nauseated. His hands came up and he shakily signed, “Sick.” Then he hauled himself over the side of the sleigh and vomited into Pampas.

Or he would have, had the expelled emesis fallen completely to the ground. It instead fell a few dozen yards, then splattered against something unseen flying below.

Whatever shielding the UFO blinked off then tried valiantly to turn back on, but mostly appeared patchy at best. Clint blearily stared at the UFO, too off-balance to truly react, while Kate gaped at the clearly non-human, non-any-alien-species-currently-in-contact-with-humans ship slowly revealed itself.

The UFO was only apparent for a minute, at most, before time and space seemed to contract around it and it disappeared in a blast of distorted light. The Hawkeyes gawked after it, the rest of the night as placid as before, before Kate broke the rangle-tangle-jangle of the sleigh bells with the whisper, “ _was that the U.S.S. Enterprise?”_

Clint pithily responded via puking again.

* * *

 

The reindeer seemed to have their own internal GPS, twisting and turning over the landscape at will. They had turned around sometime down the grassland, and had serpentined through the mountains in a manner that did not help the un-abated nausea plaguing a singular, hearing-aid lost Hawkeye. Which meant that by the time they had worked their way through the rest of South America and back into Central America at a varied tempo, Kate was flagging and Clint was gagging on bile.

“You know, I never really considered the logistics of Santa flying all over the world and delivering presents before. I mean, even at high speeds and considering population density, time is still a major factor to race against? You’d only have twelve hours to get through a hemisphere, but travel time and distances that are water have to be factored in? And seriously, in cities, the myth would have you believe that the man stops and starts at every house. But he also has to get in, put the right gifts and get out. That’d all have to take place at super-sonic speeds! I mean, forget about the weaponized sleigh and the alien reindeer, there is just no way.” Kate gesticulated around lazily, clearly following some rabbit hole of thought. Clint squinted at her, but did not respond.

“Sure, the targeting thing is cool. But wouldn’t that mean he could, I don’t know just toss each present into the air and expect them to get to the right place ….” She sat upright fully. Clint stared at her in horror, then signed, “Hawkeye, _no._ ”

* * *

 

Kate stood atop the still-towering sack (still-spilling gifts of all shapes and sizes, _what even_ ), proselytizing to the groggy-horrified-yet-captive audience of Clint and the Reindeer. “Clint, Reindeer, and Possibly Passing Friendly Extraterrestrials! Lend me your hearing orifices, or your eyes if hearing impaired! I have a Dream! A Dream that tonight I might actually make it back to my bed without proving or disproving any other crazy theories about Christmas or Santa! Or Aliens! A Dream that I might not have to forcibly visit most of the Western Hemisphere at Mock 7 or something! A Dream that I might be able to get the Earth under my feet again, without having to fight another band of guerrilla fighters in the forest! Because that got old after the third time! Or possibly get radiation poisoning from nuclear detonation!

“But what should we do in order to achieve this Dream? I say we utilize the amazing alien technology of this here Sleigh and forcibly toss over all the presents! WHO’S WITH ME?!”

The response was tepid, with Kate having to hop into the relative safety of the sleigh bed as automatic gunfire went off below them, deflecting off the shield. After she collected herself enough to return fire, _because she was a Hawkeye and Hawkeyes Don’t Start Things, And May Occasionally Get In Over Their Head(s), But They Do Their Best to Give As Good As They Get!_ , she returned to standing arms akimbo. “I’m taking that as tact approval, barring any dissent. Speak now or hold your peace!”

She Very Pointedly ignored Clint’s hands signing – if she didn’t read them, it didn’t count.

“Excellent! Onwards, Intrepid Heroes!”

* * *

 

There was a vague plan of action in place by the time they reached what they presumed to be Mexico City. It mostly consisted of trying to upend the sack and letting gravity do the work, shoulders pressed against the bag whilst their feet scrambled against the floor for purchase and leverage. It yielded …. Middling results, with gifts dispersing at a slightly faster rate. Previous experimentation had uncovered that flying higher had the presents tumbling out at higher tempos, most likely to get to all the recipients. But that had also yielded very cold Hawkeyes, neither of whom were dressed for upper atmosphere temperatures.  Unfortunately, Kate had taken Leadership Lessons from Captain America, and she insisted upon staunchly ignoring the low oxygen levels and steadily blue-ing extremities for inadvisably long periods of time.

It was during one of their warming periods, nominally over somewhere in the Mid-West, that they were subjected to a fly-by of F-14s. Clint, in an act of sheer willful _Hawkeye_ , waved. Apparently, this was not the Correct and Done Thing, as a few more F-14s joined in and followed at a disconcerting distance from the back of the Sleigh. They left for a bit, sometime after Mount Rushmore, ostensibly because _Canada_ , but sometime after the reindeer had turned and started back in the general direction of south along the mountains, the F-14s returned.  Just in time to see Kate wriggling into the sack and dumping out presents by the armful.

It could have all been talked through – they were _Avengers_ – except for the small bit where Clint had dropped his phone.

It might also have been averted had they been able to show the pilots, hey, just presents! But no, a half dozen gifts did their terrible magical transformation routine and dissolved into sparkling light and _headed straight for the F-14s._

It did not help matters that the gifts re-materialized inside the cockpits. Especially when one gift turns out to be a rather large dakimakura. So when said plane goes careening out of formation, nearly hitting the plane to its right, both Hawkeye’s stare after the rapidly descending jet moan, “ _Aw, jet no.”_

* * *

 

The following is a transcript of the Dogfight of Christmas 2016:

Branflakes: Niner-Niner, we have sighted the bogey, over ;

Shima: Bogey in my sights;

Checkpoint November: Reading you loud and clear, any id?

Shima: Same Flying Sleigh as before;

Branflakes: Except this time they’re tossing something over;

FNG: It’s turning into … lights?

WTF: Gerold, quit turning things into questions;

Spook: _pfft_ last you thought it was Hawkeye in there, sure you take a whiff of the jet fuel?

Checkpoint November: Focus Squad.

All: Yess –

FNG: Those lights they’re tossing are headed straight for us!

WTF: Evasive Maneuvers!

FNG: Hoyl Sh*t! Something massive’s in my cock - ! *Inarticulate screaming*

Spook: FNG broke! Something’s in his cockpit!

WTF: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!

Branflakes: Sir, what should we do?

Checkpoint November: Open Fire.

(transcript cut for length)

* * *

 

Dodging F-14s while returning fire and distributing presents across the American Rocky Mountains was not the world’s easiest task. Sure there was a shield, but it quickly became apparent it was not operational at certain distances. Plus the reindeer were panicking. Again.

“Why the hell does Santa use reindeer? They seem like too much hassle!!!!!” Clint hollered at Kate, trying to keep the baying caribou in some semblance of order, upper arms tensed with the strain.

Kate screamed back, “How much trouble will we be in if these planes have damage done to them?” The still emptying sack swayed under her feet.

So they were having communication issues. Not the first time.

Clint replied, still at volume, “I’m going to hit a button!”

Kate shrieked in return, “Maybe we should hit a button?!” She fired a sparkler arrow at a jet, turning her head away from the dazzling firework sparks. The F-14 she had aimed at peeled away, ostensibly to clear their vision.  Clint, hear aids still malfunctioning, hit a button at random.

A very unpleasant odor filled the air. The sort of smelly smell that had people gagging. Clint took a moment to peek back, and saw what had to be the best worst thing of his life:

Several clumps of reindeer feces streaming out behind the sleigh, fouling up the remaining jets.

Kate threw her hands up in victory. “Haha, suck it Air Force!”

Clint, still couldn’t hear her, but threw a thumbs up anyways – sometimes it was better to not wonder why Santa collected reindeer feces.

* * *

 

The West Coast finished up quickly, with a fly by courtesy of Iron Man and Iron Patriot, bringing coffee, coats, and the news that the U.S. Government wasn’t planning on sending more fighter jets if they’d stick to higher altitudes and quit dumping reindeer feces places. It was hell to get sanitation to the right spots.

The Canadian West Coast was frigid, and the coffee went frozen, but no one shot at them. Both Hawkeyes agreed it was progress.

Clint signed happily, “I think I ought to move to Canada.”

Kate judged him from over the rim of her coffee slushie, “Eh, I don’t think they’d let you immigrate.” She paused, then amended her statement, “I don’t think _Logan_ would let you immigrate.”

Clint’s next words were not sign language fit for print.

* * *

 

It was about half-way to Alaska that the weather took a turn for the worse. Snow started to fall, quickly becoming heavier and heavier, until the reindeer executively decided to turn, in what Clint’s internal compass told him, west and took them out over the coast and then out into the Pacific.

Stormy waters quickly turned tropical blue, and islands dotted to the horizon. Coats were quickly discarded, and the temperatures rose accordingly. The clear night sky passed overhead – still a blur, but a charmingly comfortable blur. Clint took a nap, and Kate waved at passing boats (and kept dumping presents out of the sack, it still seemed half full), and slowly nudged the reindeer lower, to the sea.

The spray of the ocean was excellent, if salty. Kate got a killer selfie out of the process.

She’d just finished uploading it to Instagram when the mobile was forcibly ejected from her hand, dropping neatly into the waves with nary so much as a _plop_. The action was closely followed by a pained screech, a harpoon looking item embedding itself in the shoulder of a reindeer.

The lines were thrown into disarray at once, the equine beasts immediately bucking and rearing, trying to scatter but still harnessed together and thus just bouncing and jerking the sleigh like popcorn.  Then they started running, panicked and scrambling vertically through the atmosphere, strewing debris through the sky.

Most importantly, though, they left behind two Hawkeyes.

* * *

 

 

“You know,“ Kate began, tied up and tired, “This has to be a first. We’re tied up in a tropical place by …. Actually, who are you?”

Clint sighed audibly, as Hawkeye sass was comprehensible even without hearing.

Whomever the people were didn’t deign to respond to Kate’s question, instead talking quietly into radios and bustling around in a hurried manner.

Kate forged on determinedly, “No matter. Clearly, you are not The Good Guys, because you attacked what was clearly non-combatants in International Waters. That’s illegal you know, and only Bad Guys do Illegal Things.”

Clint rolled his eyes and nudged Kate in the shoulder hard with his own.

“For the most part,” Kate amended. Hawkeye telepathy, you know.

There was silence for a moment, as the two Hawkeyes watched the group pour over blueprints and softly argue over what seemed to be plans for something.

“To be fair, villains don’t tend to retrieve people’s belongings. I mean, points for Not Being Quite As Bad As You Could Have Been, for what it’s worth.”

Clint shimmied his shoulder in agreement. “Thank you for agreeing Clint. And yes, I am highly Intelligent, thank you for the compliment. Speaking of, can we get some complimentary water over here?”

One of the hostiles snarled, “Shut up!”

Kate brightened considerably, “Oh good! English! Here I was thinking I’d have to break out my high school Spanish.”

Clint winced theatrically. The message got across just fine.

The man who spoke clenched his jaw and looked like he was thinking of reasons why he shouldn’t just drown them both.

Kate cleared her throat, “Now that I have your attention, can we seriously get that water? I’d like to be able to pay attention when you do the Bad Guy Monolouge thing.”

Clenched Jaw man barked back, “If it will get you to shut up, then yes.” He jerked his head at one of the men around him, “Get them drinks. Quickly.” Everyone else returned to running around importantly.

Kate dropped her voice, “You ready?” Clint tapped her twice on the wrist, above where the ropes had gone slack and letting his own pool on the ground.

* * *

 

The resultant fight was only notable in the amount of ass kicking two Hawkeyes managed.  Hostiles ended up shot and/or unconscious, then hog-tied as appropriate.

Kate dusted off her hands, after finishing her last batch of Bads. “You know, this night is looking up.”

Clint grunted in agreement, fiddling with the dials on the radio.

“Shall we call for extraction?” Cue another grunt.

* * *

 

Several hours later, Clint and Kate were wrapped warmly in blankets on Clint’s apartment’s roof. The sun was just peaking over the top of the buildings, and there was a distinct chill to the air that promised snow. Hot coffee was nestled firmly between hands in thick-sided thermoses, and there was a distinct lack of reindeer, alien or otherwise. Hearing aids and phones had been replaced, and all wounds were patched up with the help of a well-stocked first aid kit.

Kate raised her phone to the sky, perfectly capturing a picture of the two worn ragged Hawkeyes. “This is definitely going in the scrapbook.”

Clint examined the photo. “Yeah, that’s a good one.”

“Too bad I lost the ones from the sleigh. It would have been amazing to have proof, you know?”

Clint straightened his posture, “That sleigh was the worst. There is nothing worse than that sleigh.”

“Thor is drag, sans Loki’s magic.”

“I stand corrected.”

Kate sipped at her coffee; only Hawkeye brew for Hawkeyes, and it was better than the tepid bean water Tony and Rhodey had tried to pass off as “artisanal”. She squinted into the sun, “You know, we never did complete the route.”

Clint shrugged, “Nope.”

“Not even worried a little bit?”

“Nope.”

“Not even about if Santa’s a supervillain?”

“Not in the slightest. Though I maintain he has no good reason for half the gadgets and settings on his sleigh.”

Kate laughed, wincing as she stretched her fractured ribs the wrong way. “Merry Christmas Hawkeye.”

“Merry Christmas Hawkeye.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Reading! Once again, round of applause to the ever lovely Lost, who in times of need comes and whispers the magic words of "Disaster Arrows". 
> 
> And thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to read this. I hope your own holidays were amazing and bright and that your upcoming year is also amazing and bright.
> 
> EDIT: It has been made aware to me that Santa already exists in Marvel cannon. As the Strongest Mutant Ever Recorded. The Author did not take this into account. The Author Supposes this adds a new level to the fic - because Hawkeyes took out the strongest mutant on record - but it is not precisely the best explanation for the train wreck that is this fic.


End file.
